For the Price of a Rose
by Caeyle
Summary: Can Martin accept Rose's death and move on? Or will he drown himself in his sorrow?


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For the Price of a Rose By Caeyle  
  
Rated: G Disclaimer: All the characters belong to Jacques. I'm just borrowing them.  
  
Side Note: I seem to have a lot of random ideas. Short fic from Martin's POV after Rose's death. My first Redwall fic! About half of it taken from the book, Martin the Warrior, edited a bit.  
  
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It was an early, peaceful morning, soft light filtering through the trees onto the forest floor below. A small stream trickled through the woods, swift-flowing. It was deadly silent, not even a bird singing a melody to the dawn. The only place where there seemed to be inhabitants was in a small clearing.  
  
"Oi be a-needen more foirewood, Marthen. Will you'm cut some?"  
  
Wordlessly Martin took up his sword and went off, descending to the forest to cut wood. He moved quietly, as to not to break the silence. On impulse, he turned one way, coming to the whispering stream. Standing in front of it, he looked into its clear depths. Leaning against a rock with a sigh, he slid down to a sitting position.  
  
It would have been perfect, he thought, if only Rose was here. The young mouse maid with an enchantingly sweet voice and a beautiful face. The only love he knew and remembered. Before, he had known only hate and grief, hate for the evil tyrant Badrang and his vermin horde, and grief for his kind grandmother who had cared for him.  
  
Why hadn't he insisted Rose stay behind at Noonvale? Why hadn't he kept her away from the battlefield, where she would be safe? Why hadn't he shouted a warning to warn her away from Badrang? The mouse maid did not deserve such a cruel and sudden death. Polleekin saw it, why did he not heed her warning?  
  
A lone tear dropped from his eye and trickled down his cheek and whiskers. He would give anything for Rose to live again. It was he who should have died, not Rose. Rose- so innocent and young. He wished he had never met Rose, that she was safe in Noonvale. Yes, and he would be enslaved again to the evil one who had started everything.  
  
He wept silently now, uncontrollably. His whole body quivering with grief, he drew his sword. His father's blade, shining brightly. The freedom of dozens of harmless creatures, the defeat of the evil one, his own sword back: all for the price of a rose. One Rose, one he held dear to his heart. Through blurred vision, he suddenly saw his sword in a new light. He raised it up to his neck, sharp blade touching his throat. He could be gone from this world, be back with Rose, be back with all of his friends who had perished in the war. Be back with his father, mother, and grandmother, all with a sweep of his blade. Just one quick movement.  
  
A slight breeze ruffled his ears, cooling the hot tears on his face. Another breeze, stronger this time, swept by, seeming to whisper: You were not meant to die Martin. He looked around suddenly, as if expecting to find someone there. But no, he was being stupid, he told himself, it was just his imagination. But suddenly he felt a new hope rising in him. He did not save Rose, but he could save many others from a fate like hers. There were still vermin roaming the lands, still harmless beasts in trouble, still evil needed to fight by good. He let the sword fall back onto his lap. Rose would be in his memory forever, and she would be waiting for him in the end. As he stood up, a lone skylark piped up a lonely song, its voice carried by the wind to the forest below. As sweet as Rose's had been, he thought. He cut a few pieces of wood, and walked back to Polleekin's home.  
  
Polleekin's breakfast was good homely fare, oatmeal with honey, nutbread spread thick with strawberry preserve and a seaming pot of mint and dandelion tea. Martin ate automatically, neither tasting nor commenting on the food. When he had finished, he made a simple announcement. "I am leaving today."  
  
It was the first time he had spoken since the battle at Marshank. His friend waited for him to say more, but he sat silent, staring at his empty plate, face calm and resolute.  
  
It was then that Rowanoak knew Martin had rejoined the land of the living. "Will you come to Noonvale with us? We will be leaving to go there today."  
  
Martin felt a flood of memories returning to him at the mere mention of Noonvale. "I can never return to Noonvale. I will travel alone. South."  
  
Grumm spoke, interrupting Martin's thoughts. "Whurr be you'm a-goen? Wot be you'm a-goen t' do, Marthen?"  
  
"One day maybe I will hang up this sword and be a creature of peace. Until then, I must follow the way of the Warrior; it is in my blood. Have no fear, I will never mention Noonvale, or any of you. Noonvale is a secret place untouched by evil. I could not forgive myself if I unknowingly sent trouble there. Nobeast will know from where I came."  
  
Pallum stared quizzically at him. "But what will you say? We had such adventures together, maybe in another time and another place you will tell the tale."  
  
"Never!" Martin shook his head slowly. No, he could not bring himself to tell the tale, not in full, anyway. He would never speak of Rose again, to any creature. "I will only say that I guarded my father's cave against searats while he was away. When I felt he would not return I began my wanderings. How could anybeast understand what we went through together, the freedom we won and the friends we lost?" He blinked back a tear, as they sat in silence together.  
  
Rowanoak squared her shoulders and smiled. "We will never forget you, Martin the Warrior. Come on, let's see if we can make this place ring one last time with the old war cry!"  
  
Birds flapped their startled wings as four voices yelled aloud, "Fur and Freedoooooom!"  
  
As Martin walked southward, he could feel his heart rising steadily with a strange cheerfulness. He had a pack of provisions, a faithful sword, and a wandering heart. There was hope. 


End file.
